


Love and Other Oddities

by honeydream



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, F/M, It's about the journey, Mutual Pining, Post-Weirdmageddon, Rivals to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-20 07:00:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22078000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydream/pseuds/honeydream
Summary: Following the events of Weirdmaggedon, more anomalies have spread to the rest of the world and one of them in particular provokes deep concern in the minds of two brilliant scientists.In other words, an old friend seeks out Ford's help to investigate said anomaly. They embark on a journey, and the only things standing in their way are a turbulent past and maybe a few legal issues.
Relationships: Ford Pines/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. The Search for A Ghost

Receiving calls at ungodly hours of the night wasn’t rare, but certainly unwelcome.

Well, a select few were, anyways.

The ones from work she’d learned to tolerate; her job warranted late night discussions about plans for leading new investigations or questions related to the former. She couldn’t deny the calls of a niece or nephew in despair where her input was needed, or the reassuring of a concerned mother who’d called in the early hours of the dawn. Then come the random calls. Those from an array of strangers asking her about her work, asking her about her marital status and other intrusive questions that no respectful person should ever ask.

At three in the morning, the phone plays its insufferable song yet again.

Elena is hesitant. Her limbs twitch, though not a move is made from her bed. _What if I just change my number?_ The thought unfolded until the stronger willed part of her mind emerged to put it in place. What if it’s mom? What if it’s her beloved nieces and nephews? What if it’s work? So, finally, she stirs.

A hand is flung in the dark at the cellphone on her nightstand. She doesn’t bother opening her eyes and feels around for it, lets out a loud groan, then brings it to her ear.

“Torres speaking. What—"

Earsplitting shrieks pierce through from the other line. Alarmed, she yanks the phone away, but brings it back. Her eyelids fly open.

“Hello?” A chill runs down her spine and she jolts upright. She pokes amidst the darkness for her glasses.

The sounds of destruction continue. Behind the terrorized screams, the sound of rocks clobbering to the ground, wood splitting; metal grinding and churning.

“What’s going on? Hello?” She repeats, louder this time. The hairs on her neck stood on end at the same time her heartbeat decided to pick up more speed.

“Oh, thank god. El, I need you down here as soon as possible,” oddly, the caller’s voice doesn’t shake or crack in the slightest. They sounded too calm to be in the middle mayhem. “I know this is on such short notice, but as you—” they’re interrupted by static. “As you can hear, things are a little out of… Balance,” they said. Woven into their words was a dry sense of humor.

“Get on with it already!”

“It’s another one of those anomalies or whatever you call it,” static intercepts the call for some time. Intrigue pours into Elena’s growing sense of alarm and urgency. The word _anomaly_ echoed in her mind.

“You’re the only one who’s tried to study these things and succeeded,” they said. “You’ll need reinforcement, lots of it, and—" the call fell into static once more.

She spent a good thirty minutes pacing around her bedroom, pulling at a lock of her hair in hopes that she’d hear the voice again. Five more minutes, she decided, and nothing. The call was lost.

The caller was right: she would need a team. A big one. By the sound of it, the thing she’d be dealing with would be bigger than any team she could possibly put together. The thrumming of her heart clouded her mind with more worst-case scenarios, which led to her anxious fidgeting. A gigantic team led only by herself? It’s not that she was incapable of such thing—in fact, quite the opposite. The doubt comes from the guarantee of safety. Then, she remembered.

She wasn’t alone. Someone else had successfully studied such anomalies: a former colleague whose work closely paralleled her own.

A long shot by far, but she had to try.

Chances are he would accept the proposal, being the _honorable_ man that he is. However, the fact that it’s her, and not just anybody making the proposal, ensured some difficulties with his cooperation. Or, maybe not. She hopes not, at least. It’s been a while. The hardest part, for the time being, was how on earth she would contact him.

Any means of correspondence were out of the question. No email, no address—she would have to do the digging herself.

Elena whipped out her laptop. She squinted against the harsh light and rushed to her desk. Her fingers fled to the keyboard with itching anticipation, but nothing happened. They hovered over the keyboard some time. She chewed at her lips and desperately tried to find reasons not to do this, and there were none. She had to. There are _lives_ at stake, she told herself. That’s enough of a reason. She typed into the search bar.

 _Stanford Pines_.

Hundreds of thousands of articles or profiles of a Stanford Pines sprung to the search page. She scrolled through images of a felon who did, actually, hold an uncanny resemblance to the man she searched for. Things about fishy products and hundreds of other people that just weren’t him. She clicked her tongue in defeat—she would have to narrow down the search.

 _Dr. Stanford Pines_.

She doesn’t know why she expected anything else other hundreds of other Dr. Stanford Pineses, all except hers. She tried again.

 _Ford Pines_.

Nothing.

 _Dr. Stanford “Ford” Pines_.

Still nothing. She tried going back a little further.

 _Backupsmore alumni 1974_.

The user interface for their website was… navigable, at least. It probably hadn’t been updated in decades. On the page were paragraphs written about notable former students, including one of herself, alongside pictures of her younger and older selves. Below, a paragraph about the man in question. Adjacent to that paragraph, the worn, photographed portrait of a scruffy young man with a smile and a wistful glint in his eye.

Her focus lingered there for a moment too long. Long enough to invoke the resurgence of a warmth in her cheeks and a heat that seared the tips of her ears, sprouting from an old spark she thought had died out ages ago. She looked away.

Elena huffed.

She hooked her glasses off her face and dug her knuckles into her eyes. _What a joke,_ she thought. She glimpsed at the clock. It’s four thirty; the exhaustion must be catching up to her.

The paragraph, riddled with praise of his brilliance and everlasting conviction, contributed nothing to her search.

Elena thought back to goals that he’d set for himself. Dreams, aspirations, places that he wanted to go to—and that’s when it hit her. The little town in Oregon, what was it called? It had some silly pun, or wordplay. She recalled how he laughed at her easy disbelief and how he promised he wasn’t kidding. Her eyes darted around as if to pull a name out of thin air. Surprisingly, wracking her mind over cheesy puns for a while seemed to help.

 _Gravity Falls_.

Two pages of articles surfaced, most of them about the rebuilding of a town from a catastrophic storm. Farewells to “town heroes,” Dipper and Mabel Pines, were recurrent. She opened a tab for every related article. As much as she’d love to know what earned them such titles, it was the last names and the attached picture that drew her attention.

The picture focused on a pair of twins blowing out birthday candles. Cute kids; Dipper and Mabel, she guessed. Unless, of course, the older twins behind them used such aliases. Luckily for Elena, that was virtually impossible. Because at last—there, behind the children, stood a beaming Stanford Pines.

She didn’t dare look at the image for any more than she already had. She scrolled again.

According to the article, he and his brother had left town a couple of years ago to travel; their destinations undisclosed. She heaved a sigh. Another dead end.

Elena sifted through the little articles that remained regarding Gravity Falls. She kept running into more dead ends and news about a Mystery Shack under new management, as well as plans of statues to be erected in honor of their town heroes. 

The first bars of sunlight filtered through the windows when she came across something new. An article had led her to a picture of a newspaper headlined: MYSTERIOUS FOREIGN SAILORS CONQUER RAGING BEAST.

Another picture. Stanford and his brother on a boat, wrestling what appeared to be a… large squid?

Elena pushed all questions aside; there would be enough time for that. She checked the date. She furiously jotted down the name of the paper and the author of the article. Running on pure caffeine and sheer determination, Elena spent the morning contacting reporters, journalists, shops and people in the area. Her inbox chimed later in the day.

A smile ghosted her lips, and she knew she’d succeeded.

_Gotcha._


	2. She's Back, and He's Not Too Happy About It

Winter vacation.

The three-month long opportunity for friends and family to unite; to spend quality time together. Kids set loose from their academic responsibilities can spend their days lousing about, playing with schoolmates. Extended families gather for the holidays to poke fun at one another and tell stories at a feast.

Or, in Ford’s case, the chance to embark on a search for a grandniece and grandnephew who’d been led astray, on an island, alongside the brother he hadn’t seen in over three decades.

“What do you mean they _just_ _disappeared?”_ A pang of alarm wracked his body.

“I’m tellin’ you exactly what I mean! I bend down to tie my shoe, I look back up and they’re gone,” Stan violently gesticulates every action, his face contorted into a frown.

Ford glared at him.

Stan bunched his shoulders and stretched his arms out to his sides. “They were out of my sight for two seconds. Two.”

Not again.

The notion of losing both twins made his stomach do somersaults. He tensed, but before his swelling concern could get the best of him, he remembered they came prepared. Losing Mabel a first time might have taught them a lesson or two.

It had been almost three years since Ford’s radar picked up paranormal activity happening around the Arctic Circle. Since then, the activity had spread far beyond the explored area. In fact, there had been an increasing number of paranormal hotspots resurfacing around the world. Ford’s immediate response, of course, was to investigate. Only this time, the crew had expanded. Dipper and Mabel—through longwinded, albeit impressive, persuasion tactics—had been allowed to tag along.

Their first stop? A little island off the eastern coast of Canada: Fogo.

“Stanley, you—” Ford closed his eyes. He expelled a long puff of air; he knew it was pointless to drill him in with a lecture. “This is why we couldn’t have them last year,” he grumbled. Ford fished a walkie talkie out of his pocket and a tracking device from his backpack.

The map revealed that they hadn’t wandered too far. _Thank goodness_ , he thought. He’d hopped through enough dimensions for one lifetime.

“Hey,” Stan jabbed a thumb at his chest. “At least _I_ wasn’t the one who sent the kids home with those sword pens.”

Stung by the remark, Ford sputtered. “They were supposed to be souvenirs! I didn’t think they would consider playing with them!” He squinted. “Mabel has a grappling hook, for crying out loud.”

“You don’t go around swingin’ grappling hooks at people, Poindexter.”

He opened his mouth to speak and not a word came out. Ford accepted his defeat with a rub of his temples. “Okay, you’re right,” he sighed. “In retrospect, that might have been an awful idea.”

Stan cracked a chuckle. “You think?” Ford’s shoulders sagged with such blatant guilt, that a sympathetic pat on the back was inevitable. “C’mon, dry your eyes, Sixer. Where’re those gremlins at now?”

A reinvigorating gust of wind pushed him to focus. His eyes swept across the map one more time for security. “Yes—the children. This way,” he said, emboldened.

That final statement was uttered and the brothers took off. They trudged through sedimentary rocks caked beneath inches of snow. During their small journey, Ford would listen to Stan entertain a joyful Mabel through the walkie talkie. It eased him now that he could practically hear her smile, and boy, was it contagious.

“Is Grunkle Ford there? Hi, Grunkle Ford!”

Ford grinned and spoke into the mic. “Yes, and I hope whatever you ran off to do was worth giving us a heart attack.”

“It was!”

Stan and Ford share a haughty laugh; billows of hot breath dissipating into the air.

“It’d better be, ‘cause we’re here,” said Stan. They hiked up a hill, thrusting their boots into snow, and wind battering at the hoods of their parkas.

There they were: below the overhang, Dipper and Mabel lie behind a wall of snow, bundled up from head to toe in about three layers of clothes. Far beyond them, two seals romp around the frozen Labrador Sea.

“That’s it?” Stan snorted. “You can go to the zoo and see one of those things. What about the Yeti? Now that’s something you can’t catch every day.”

“Uh, Grunkle Stan, the Yeti lives in the Himalayas,” Dipper said.

“Yeah, yeah. Same thing.”

Ford suppressed the urge to further clarify the discussion. He looked down to where the children lie, bickering in hushed voices and flashing grand smiles at one another, and back to Stan. One end of his lip vaguely curled up in silent content as he gazed out across the vast sheet of ice. An amused huff fogged up his glasses at the sound of a _“shut up!”_ from Mabel.

He could get used this, he thought. For so long, he thought he’d never get the chance to experience what it felt like to have this—to have family around him; people who loved him, and who he loved back. But he had bigger matters on his mind.

Ford made sure that the walkie talkie was off.

“Stanley,” he lowered his voice. Stan turned to him. “A few days ago, the radar picked up something… Unusual, in the southern hemisphere. I don’t know what to make of it yet. It’s big—that’s for sure,” Ford shot a fond glance at Dipper taking pictures of the seals. “I should have mentioned this to you earlier, but I didn’t want to worry the kids.”

Stan readjusted his scarf. The constant fogging of his glasses was a bit too much for his liking. “And you wanna go check it out.”

“That’s the problem. I do,” Ford said. Fully facing Stan now, he continued. “But I fear it might be dangerous this time.”

“You say that like going to every one of these hotspots _isn’t_ dangerous,” Stan jut his chin at the frozen sea. “I thought you liked that part of this stuff, anyways. Y’know, the high stakes. The ‘thrill’ or whatever,” he added air quotations around ‘thrill.’

Ford took a step closer. “I know, I know. That’s why I need you to trust me on this. It’s unlike any of the other anomalies we’ve seen so far, and we can’t put them at risk,” he pointed at him. “You of all people should know that.”

Stan’s contented demeanor had vanished. His brows pulled into a frown; conflicted, he pursed his lips. “I dunno, Ford. We brought ‘em all the way out here and you wanna send them back early?”

“Maybe not now, but in a few days’ time. Before we get any closer to it.”

“They’ll be real upset about that.”

Behind Stan, Dipper and Mabel were already working their way up the hill. Ford knew he’d lost the chance to respond. He shushed him and absent-mindedly gaped at the endless expanse of white that blanketed the island. “Just keep quiet for now—not a word to either of them. We’ll discuss this later tonight.”

“Sounds good to me. I’m starving, and _man_ is it freezing,” Stan pulled the scarf over his nose again. “I hope the Bahamas are weird enough for you next time. Sheesh.”

“Well, I _did_ do an extensive analysis of possible anomaly hotspots that… Stanley—Stanley, are you listening?”

He jogged after Stan, who had already made a beeline for the flecks of houses and cabins in the distance. Dipper and Mabel followed close behind.

____

The community they were staying in constituted of, perhaps, a dozen or more rustic cabins scattered along one shore of the island. One restaurant in particular catered to each of their specific cravings, so that’s where they spent their lunch. The four sat at a window booth furthest from the door.

“Neither of you saw anything strange on your way down there?” Ford pressed. His arms were folded and resting on the table; a brow arched. “Nothing new?”

Across from him, Stan peered over his newspaper. “They were gone for five minutes,” he deadpanned.

“A lot can happen in five minutes. So?” Ford leaned in.

At Stan’s side, Mabel shook her head. “Nope,” she chimed through a mouthful of waffles. “I think we’ve already dug up every creepy crawly thing in this place.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not like this island’s gigantic anyways. We’ve found at least ten new anomalies in the past two days by just walking an hour to every coast,” Dipper pulled a shimmering, blue journal from his bag and flipped through the pages.

Ford observed each page in detail. Meticulous ink illustrations of beasts and critters were the focus points of every page. Fascinated, he’d ask him about the annotations written on the edges, to which Dipper would eagerly answer with a twinkle in his eyes and a smile etched on his face.

“Two days and we haven’t seen a single fairy yet,” Mabel squashed her nose against the window. “I’ve never felt so hopeless.”

“I don’t know, Mabel. Maybe it’s for the best,” Dipper shoots a wary eye at his sister. “I read that the fairies here are kinda evil. Like, might-steal-your-bones, evil. Either that, or they’re just really annoying.”

Stan snorted from behind the newspaper. “’Evil.’ Oh, no, the magic of friendship, glitter bombs, bright and saturated colors—I’m quivering with fear!”

“Actually, the boy is right.”

Three heads turned towards an approaching older woman. A mug sat between slim fingers embellished by rings of all kinds. Large hair , adding to the mystic image. 

“See? If you won’t take it from me, take it from the people who live here,” Dipper smirked.

Except, she didn’t live anywhere near there.

Ford stiffened. His jaw clenched. A pit of resentment in his gut that he’d thought he’d filled in a long time ago, sliced open like a fresh scar.

_It can’t be._

But the more she spoke, the more she confirmed his suspicions.

“The faeries you’re searching for are far more vicious in comparison to their counterparts in Oregon,” the woman drew a chair to the head of the table and took a seat.

The kids exchanged surprised glances at each other, then at Stan. He shook his head and shrugged in response. Everyone resorted to Ford for the answer. He frowned, clasped his hands together above the table, and looked to the opposite direction.

“When having birthed sickly or weak offspring, these faeries lure healthy, human children away from their families to raise them as their own. They leave their young to the parents they had stolen from, and the human children are never heard from again,” she bore a sinister smile as if to mimic the wickedness of the faeries. Her voice hushed and grim; but brimming with, perhaps, a bit too much enthusiasm.

Enough to make each of them recoil at her storytelling. Even Stan, the proponent of dark and chilling tales, seemed a bit on edge. But more so because of the crazy look on her face.

“It would be a shame for Gravity Falls to hear that their beloved heroes had suddenly gone _missing,_ ” she shook her head in dismay.

Everyone tensed. Including Ford. He wondered just how much she knew, exactly, of the tragic events that would plague that town’s history forever.

“That a threat, lady?” Stan slammed his newspaper down.

The woman brought a hand to her lips and burst into laughter. “No, no, of course not. The children are safe,” she paused and put a hand on her heart. “From me, at least.”

“Uh huh,” Stan shifted. “Not liking sound of that.”

“Phew! That’s a relief,” Mabel wiped imaginary sweat from her forehead. “I totally thought we were goners for a second there,” her voice was tinged with sarcasm, but not enough to make it sound ungenuine.

“Somehow, that… Doesn’t make me feel any better,” Dipper squinted. He spent an awful lot of time studying her features; from her dangling, golden earrings that resembled a stylized design of the sun, to the long, silver waves of hair. “Do I know you?”

“My apologies,” she said through a chuckle. “I tend to go a little over the top when it comes to introductions and whatnot. You must be Dipper,” her eyes darted across the table as she named, and gestured at, the two who ensued. “Your sister, Mabel, and you, Stanley.”

A layer of icy contempt glazed over her entire character.

“Stanford,” she said. She didn’t even bother breathing his way.

“Elena,” he replied after a pause.

He kept his gaze fixated elsewhere. On the salt shakers, on the frayed, plastic edges of the lunch menu—anything. He’d forgotten how her name rolled off his tongue; how it’d left such a bitter taste in his mouth, and he’d especially forgotten how his name rolled off hers.

“Oh! That’s why you looked so familiar,” Dipper perked up. His interjection incited a wave of relief between Mabel and Stan. A new light flickered in his eyes. “Like, _Torres_ , Elena?”

Ford’s grimace deepened. This was the final blow to his mask of indifference, and he knew he couldn’t hide behind it any longer. Confused—no, _bewildered,_ he faced his nephew. He knows her. He can’t know her, that’s impossible.

“That’s the one,” she winked.

“I read some of your books on paranormal theory last summer and—”

“Your what?” Ford directed his stare at her. His hands unclasped; accidentally knocking a spoon off its plate with a subtle clink.

Dipper jumped a bit at his sudden intervention. The excitement on his face was no more, and instead, he mirrored his uncle’s confusion. “Wait, you know Grunkle Ford?”

Stan and Mabel, caught in the middle of the crossfire, whispered back and forth to try and make sense of the ongoing wreck of a conversation. Elena parted her lips to answer. Ford glared at her. _Not here. Not now._ Dipper frantically glanced at one then to the other to find out who would back down first.

Much to his surprise, Elena rolled her eyes back into her head and pressed her lips into a fine line.

Ford stood up in one brisk movement. He hung his head; a deep sigh rolled out, and he gripped the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dipper, you’ll have to excuse us for a moment. We need to, er, clear up a few things.”

He didn’t want to, though. He could’ve gone his whole life without having to face her again.

Elena gave Dipper a warm smile that melted off as soon as she rose from her chair. The two left the restaurant, with Ford leading away and their new acquaintance purposely lagging a bit behind.

_____

“I can’t believe you,” spat Ford. “You have the audacity to turn up uninvited, and interrupt a lunch with my _family_ to spew more of your nonsense, and—and suddenly you have books now? And Dipper knows who you are, and—you just—” he paced back and forth, stopping to gesture angrily at Elena.

For once, he was truly at a loss of words. Frustration and hurt blocked any attempt at forming a coherent sentence. He didn’t know where to start. There was so much to unpack, so many questions raised, and he was desperate to get it all out at once.

They stood outside behind the restaurant, ankle-deep in snow, hugged by layers of warm clothing. Surrounding them were the few cabins that comprised the small village.

“It’s not nonsense, Ford. It was a warning; I was protecting them,” Elena rolled her eyes. A smile twitched at her lips. “By the way, ‘grunkle’—that’s very cute.”

“I can protect them myself. I don’t need your help,” he pointed at her and plunged a boot one step ahead. “And it’s less syllables and it saves more time, but that’s none of your concern. If you think you can waltz back into my life whenever you want, and take whatever you want, I’ll have you know that I won’t allow it. Not like this, not ever again,” he crossed his arms over his chest and turned a cold shoulder towards her.

Elena examined the stitching on her gloves. “Are you done?”

“No, in fact, I’m not done. Thank you very much for asking,” he swiveled around to face her again. “You’ve written books? You mean to tell me that my own nephew could go to a library and pick out one of your books, that could possibly contain some of my work in it, when I never had any say in the matter?”

“It was _our_ work! You—”

“Please tell me that I’m wrong. Or that you at least wrote my name in somewhere.”

Elena didn’t answer.

Ford scoffed. “That’s just rich.”

She muttered something under her breath, glanced away, then directed her attention back to him. “Look. I’m not here to make amends. I’m here because of something much bigger than the both of us, and I don’t know anyone else who’s more willing, or more experienced than you are, to help,” she spoke a level louder. “We wouldn’t be having this dreadful conversation if it wasn’t serious,” Elena added, quieter this time.

Ford’s rambling was put to rest. His shoulders—arched and taut—slumped, and his brows pulled apart ever so slightly. His earlier discussion with Stan replayed in his head. “The anomaly in the southern hemisphere,” he murmured.

“Ah, so you know,” she folded her arms behind her back. “I thought you would.”

“Well, yes, but not everything,” Ford said. “I haven’t had the time to sit down and properly assess the oddity as I’ve been wanting to,” he fixed his hands on his hips. “Looking out for the kids and such. Making sure they’re comfortable, etcetera,” he explained with a few waves of his hand.

“I see,” she gave a leisure nod of understanding. “So, I assume you haven’t been informed about the amount of collateral damage this entity has been causing, only in that specific area,” she quirked a brow.

His heart dropped at the mention of collateral damage. The prospect of having to send Dipper and Mabel back early became more realistic. “Is it one, singular entity acting on its own?”

“I don’t know that yet,” Elena meddled with the jewelry dangling from her ears. “There are many things I haven’t pieced together, and I feel it would be best to expand my team. That’s why I came to see you.”

Ford shook his head at the ground. “Then what? We make some groundbreaking discovery so you can go and claim it as your own?”

“I knew this would happen,” she grumbled. “I need you to forget about us and think about what we could be dealing with here.”

He fell silent. He forced his unfettered rage back into a mental cage knowing, reluctantly, that she was right.

“After this is over, you can keep chewing me out about how I’ve wronged you in the past and how you never want to see me again, something-something reparations something. All of that,” Elena put her hands together. “But, right now, I need you to make a decision. Are you in or not?”

Ford held her stare for quite a while. Working elbow to elbow with Elena for an unknown amount of time implied various things, several of which he wasn’t too sure about enduring. The thinning of his patience, for instance. But if that meant helping those affected by the oddities in question, he might be willing to make room for that.

He ran his tongue across his teeth. “Alright, Elena, I’m going to help you. You have my word,” he began, his tone low and rigorous; Ford’s anger saturated so much that each word simmered. “But this time, I won’t do it for you. There won’t be an ‘us.’ Everything I do, I do for me, for my family, or for the greater good.”

She brushed off his statement with a meager shrug and a tilt of her head. “I don’t see why not,” Elena turned on her heels and started for the main street. “I’ll be at the bar at ten tonight to fill you in,” she called.

But she stopped in her tracks. The wind whipped at the tail of her coat as she said nothing for a few seconds. “About the books,” she looked over her shoulder. “You should have considered answering my calls all those years ago.”

Ford watched her strut off towards the dirt road and round the restaurant. A furious, sharp exhale manifested itself as white smoke that wafted into the air. What calls? He’s certain he would have known about them whether he answered or not. The only way he wouldn’t have known was if—oh. Ford’s heart lurched. The mortifying realization dawned on him.

He wasn’t there when those calls were made.


	3. Hot Chocolate with A Side of Melodrama

_“_ Historian, physicist, biologist _—wow_ , that’s a really long career section,” he spoke through a yawn. Sitting cross legged on his bed, Dipper squinted at the tiny letters on his laptop screen; Mabel huddled at his side.

“Wait, go back up to the early life tab,” urged Mabel.

A rapid sequence of clicks on the keyboard followed her command.

“Whoa… Is that her? With a mermaid?” She pointed at a black and white picture of a radiant young girl, no more than a teenager, taking a picture of herself and a mermaid that smiled up at her from the underside of a pier.

Dipper made a little sound of amazement. “Have you seen this, Grunkle Ford?”

“I have, yes. Albeit, not in front of a computer screen,” Ford called to him from the kitchenette in their hotel room. He was mindful of his tone, careful not to let any misdirected emotions fall into the presence of his beloved grandniece and nephew. They didn’t know. He didn’t blame them for being curious, either. 

He pressed on. “How come you’ve never mentioned anything about her?”

“I mean, I definitely would’ve if I’d picked up her stuff earlier,” Dipper said. “How come _you’ve_ never said anything about her?”

“I never thought I’d need to. I didn’t even know she was, ah, still around,” Ford fixed one hand on his hip while the other tweaked the oven’s nozzle. Let alone out here writing and publishing theory, he thought.

The family found themselves in the comfort of their hotel room while the night was still young. The younger twins in one bed, and Stan, fluttering in and out of a nap, lounging in the other. After having lunch, the four had embarked on a long hike that stripped them of any more energy for the evening. However, that didn’t stop a pair of kids from doing some research on their new acquaintance. 

Stan chortled from his spot. “Heh. If I told you how many times I’ve run into that same exact situation, you’d be amazed.”

Ford granted him a quiet laugh and shook his head. “I believe you.”

“So, are you gonna tell us about your exciting backstory or are we gonna have to keep scrolling through her biography here?” Mabel called.

He stiffened at the prospect of detailing the nuances and everything that accompanied _that_ mess. He preferred to keep a lid on that can of worms for now.

Ford released the strain on his muscles. A deep sigh followed, and he placed a kettle upon the stove. “In short, Doctor Torres and I met each other through a mutual friend in college. She and I shared several interests, the paranormal being one of them, and then after a while we parted ways due to a few… Differences. I hadn’t seen her since then.”

A chorus of lethargic boos and discontented comments broke loose.

Ford glanced over his shoulder, taken aback.

“Where’s the thrill? The drama? The heartache?” Mabel stared at him through glossy eyes that blinked slowly, pursed lips, and brows that pinched from disappointment.

“I think you and your brother have had your fair share of dramatic tales and heartache for one lifetime,” Ford chuckled. He made a double take when he saw Dipper knocked out on the bed with the laptop rising and falling on his stomach at every breath.

Her arms hung limp at her sides. “Fair point,” she mumbled. “I still wanna know what actually happened, though.”

Ford swept the laptop off of a dormant Dipper and tucked it safely beneath his arm. As he rounded the bed, Mabel eased into a comfortable position on the bed. “Not to worry, my dear,” he bent down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Everything has its moment.”

About half an hour had passed since the twins had fallen into a deep sleep.

He’d spent that time at the table, reading and writing under moonlight, waiting restlessly for the clock to strike ten. Ford struggled to keep his beating heart at bay as he imagined scenarios where he’d accidentally end up spilling every ounce of raw emotion, unannounced. Why was he so nervous? There was only a slim probability of it happening again; he’d already gotten most of it out of his system earlier. But then again, he couldn’t underestimate himself. Not again.

“Alright, Sixer. Let’s hear it.”

Ford lifted his face from the pages of a book. The voice that he’d known to be gruff and blunt was now quiet; hushed, laced with rare thoughtfulness.

“Stan? I thought you were asleep.”

“Eh, not really. That heavy breathing of yours’s kinda kept me up the whole time,” he poked. Stan hauled himself off the bed shuffled to the chair at Ford’s side. 

“Oh, er, I hadn’t realized. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” croaked Stan. He dropped into the seat with one arm draped behind him. “So. Something ain’t right between you and the lady. Is that why you still haven’t hit the hay?”

Ford closed up his book and drew his glasses off his face. “Yes and no. I have to go see her in a few minutes to discuss that problem I mentioned to you this afternoon,” he kneaded at his eyes.

Stan winced. “If you wanna talk about it, y’know, you can.”

“Thank you, Stanley, but it’s fine. Really,” he shot a look at the clock. “Supposing all goes according to plan, I should be back in time for us to decide what we’re gonna do about our other issue,” he cocked his head towards the sleeping children.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Stan nodded. Suddenly there was a click of his tongue, a sly arch of the brow and a boyish smile illuminated by pale light. “Hm. I can see it,” he said. Ford squinted. “You and this Elena—two, giant nerds back in college gettin’ cozy over, I dunno, an algebra assignment probably.” 

Scandalized, Ford tripped over many words to chastise him before settling on a groan and a roll of his eyes. He was grateful that the darkness and shadows in the room were in his favor and shielded his embarrassment. Stan’s shoulders bounced in silent laughter. “Go back to sleep, you knucklehead,” he let his eyes close for a second.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy, Poindexter,” He arose, leaving him with a final clap on the shoulder before retreating back to his bed and the springs squealing under his weight. 

Ford wondered how he’d visualized something so close to the truth.

____

Multiple questions popped up in his head: one of them being, was he actually nervous, or did he just want to lunge himself at a fire place? Or did he feel both? Because a three-minute walk in the snow was usually something he could withstand on any normal night. He’d been through worse and in less. Sadly for him, that night didn’t happen to be one of them. His turtleneck and trench coat combo didn’t seem to be enough—he was chilled to the bone, and to top it all off, it had begun to snow.

The bar stood at the farthest end of the dirt road. Another joint built mostly of wood like every other establishment in the community.

Shops had been closed for the night and homes were pitch black, save for maybe one or two on the other end of the street. That bar, however, posed as a beacon for those who couldn’t sleep; for those who sought out the simple pleasures of a midnight drink or for those who might have been lonely. Warm lights and shadows danced on the ground beyond the window. From afar sounded the gentle strum of a guitar, a voice akin to honey, and a piano plinking in the background.

Ford stepped inside. The snowflakes that had gathered on the peaks of his hair had melted, resulting in damp strands that clung to his forehead.

A part of him hoped that she wasn’t there among the—ten, maybe thirteen—people lingering about the bar. The other part knew better than to wade around in his delusions for too long.

A lady at a booth, sporting charms of the sun suspended from her ears, organized and reorganized the order of papers spread out across the table. A pile of books towered neatly at her side. That afternoon’s untamed hair was now straightened and sleek; ending just beyond her shoulders.

He slid into the seat across from her in silence.

Elena blinked up at him, watching him wriggle around until he was comfortable. “Well, you’re looking jolly as ever,” the makings of a smirk pulled at her features.

“Elated.”

Her nonchalance was already too much for his liking.

“Good,” she snorted. “So, how much do you know? Or would you rather have a full briefing, or…?” Elena propped her elbows up and sat her chin above interlaced fingers.

“Tell me everything. Start from the beginning, if possible,” Ford maintained a hardened stare on hers and hugged his coat around tighter.

She said nothing. A barista happened to walk by during this stretch of silence and Elena summoned her over. She urged her to lean down; she whispered something into her ear, the barista affirmed, and she took off.

Elena examined him through a squint, nodding. “I can do that.”

She told him of a call she’d received the week prior. Elena described the sounds, from the screaming of civilians, to odd, unearthly rumbles and chirps, to the grating of metal. He furrowed a brow. His immediate reaction was to feel uneasy at the image of destruction, but it wasn’t long until curiosity and intrigue caught up to it.

She then described the caller.

“She was a pupil of mine who worked at my side for a couple of years—Bianca. The brightest kid I know, a real trooper,” she tilted her head to the side in fond remembrance. “If she calls and says it’s serious, it’s _serious.”_

His attention flocked to the word pupil. She was a teacher? If so, what, exactly, had she been teaching?

“It’s been tricky contacting her since then; signals are jammed, calls buffer for far too long. But she said that everything has been happening in a small town in Argentina. It’s almost like it’s trapped there.”

That sounded… Awfully familiar. He scrunched his brows at the piano in the distance, retracing thoughts and memories back to his younger days in Oregon, and more recent memories of the tragedies that had occurred in the past couple of years. It couldn’t be possible. But, considering that he sat face to face with Elena after all this time in an attempt to _work_ together, maybe it wasn’t so.

“Oh, there’s that look I was hoping for. Record time, too,” the eagerness in her voice derailed his thoughts.

“What?” He sputtered. His confusion was greeted by a witty smile; crinkled eyes that accentuated her crow’s feet. “What look? I don’t have a _look_.”

“That look you get when the gears in your head start turning and all. C’mon, you know the one. What’s on your mind?”

Several words formed a shape on his mouth until he finally decided that it wasn’t worth discussing this so-called look of his. Not now, at least. The subject would come back to haunt him later on.

A brisk, shake of his head, and Ford regained his composure. “Several years ago, I’d found out that something similar happens in Gravity Falls: oddities that are drawn to and concentrated within the bounds of an invisible barrier. An anomalous law of magnetism, if you will.”

Elena absorbed the information in quiet apprehension. “And you think that this may be another case where the law applies.”

“I certainly hadn’t thought of it at first, but I wouldn’t rule it out if you take all of this into consideration,” he grew wide eyed as the notion settled in and locked his stare on Elena’s. “Do you realize what this implies?”

“The existence of others alike,” she murmured, her face morphing from a wide range of emotions before settling on a smile of amazement.

“Fascinating! I’ve known of these hotspots and such; it just hadn’t crossed my mind that the law could exist elsewhere.” 

She shifted a selection of photographs in his direction. “Well, I now present to you, Bariloche. A town based mainly on tourism, known for chocolates—delicious, I’ve heard—its proximity to the Andes, a grand lake, and plenty other bodies of water as well.”

He tucked his chin between his thumb and index finger. An inquisitive hum left him as he analyzed each photo and he mumbled a stream of conclusions, mostly to himself. “Mountains, water… The country is well below the equator, so that could suggest temperatures fluctuating between—"

“Slow down, smart guy. No need to take shots in the dark; I came prepared.”

A thick booklet obstructed his view of the photographs with _Subject #202_ in bold, black ink on the cover.

Ford gave an indignant huff. “Of course,” he deadpanned. The ironic lilt in ‘smart guy’ only helped to feed his pooling irritation. 

“Here’s a summary of everything regarding geography, climate as well as flora and fauna surrounding the area,” chimed Elena. “Oh!” Beaming, she slid one more beside it. “And more importantly, its myths and legends. Folklore, fairytales; the good stuff. You can take that and go through it in more detail.”

Ford nodded in thought. He went through each of the pictures presented to him in search of the being that terrorized the town, only to find peaceful roadways and infrastructure that was basically intact.

The barista from before returned balancing a tray on her hand, two mugs of hot chocolate sitting above it. She set them down in places where it wouldn’t taint the paper and both parties gave their thanks.

“Getting pictures and other information this creature has been quite challenging,” Elena carded through some more papers. “Like I said, staying in touch with Bianca is difficult and she’s been trying her best to provide information whenever she can.”

“Hmph. Surely a professional of your _expertise_ would have found a way to capture a decent photo by now,” he jabbed, arching a quizzical brow. “A feather or a gill or two, at the most.”

“I’m flattered to see that you still think highly of me after so long, but I’m afraid not,” Elena clenched her chest and feigned every bit of emotion at which Ford rolled his eyes. “That’s why we’re going over there to do the dirty work ourselves.”

The last question was spoken with a zeal that rivaled what she’d displayed at the restaurant. An owlish stare harboring infinite excitement, the faint reflection of lights like fireworks; fingers tapping eagerly along the wooden table.

Ford exhaled, long and slow, as he mulled over the implications of this expedition. Maybe they could tag along. After all, these are the same children that once defeated an interdimensional dream demon.

Elena’s face softened to great extent, consideration now in place of fervor. She gave her arm an awkward rub. “Oh, your—yeah. I…”

“My family,” he nodded.

Silence reigned for a brief moment.

“Listen, uh,” she cleared her throat. “It hadn’t occurred to me that they could be with you when I got here. I’m well aware that this must… Hold some kind of sentimental value or whatever,” a shrug of empty dismissal rolled off her shoulders.

From the moment he’d sat down, he’d decided he didn’t want this encounter to lean too far from strict professionalism—no informalities, no affability. And yet, he found this particular attempt at empathizing to be rather amusing. He wanted to see where it led.

He peered at her from above the frame of his glasses.

“If you think that, well, maybe it isn’t worth giving up this time you have with them,” she grazed her nails against her scalp and her eyelids scrunched together, as if the words she’d uttered next had to wrestle their way out of her system. “I suppose you don’t _have_ to go.”

Ford allowed the faintest of a smile to slip through; smug, so as not to encourage any more of her increasing familiarity. He wasn’t about to tread on those waters quite yet. “Ah, that’s very kind of you, Elena, but my decision is final. I’m going. I already had plans to go—it’s just been a matter of talking it through with Stan and the kids.”

She fit her forehead into the curve of her palm, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “I despise you.”

He snorted. “Not enough to let me have lunch in some remote part of the world, apparently. How did you even know I was here?”

Elena observed his quarrel for a more specific explanation in monotony.

“We haven’t spoken in decades and you… Found me. Here, of all places,” he scrutinized her face all over, suspicion increasing. “What was it, hidden cameras? Wiretapping?” It was a long shot, but she had the wits and the gall to pull it off.

“Easy. Internet, reporters, and a few guys on the inside. Plus, you fought off a giant squid—most people don’t tend to overlook things like that.”

Ford let a little bit of pride slide into his demeanor. He puffed his chest out and interlocked his fingers above the table. “I’ve dealt with bigger in the past, but it _was_ quite an impressive feat. He was an absolute bastard, that squid. Completely reckless.”

“I’m sure he was,” she said. He had difficulty judging whether or not there were ironic undertones to her remark. “Something threw me off, though. It didn’t seem like you’d ever left any kind of digital footprint. I thought you’d be all over the place at this point.”

No comment.

Elena disregarded his silence to sum up how she remembered about Gravity Falls. How she found pictures of him and of the rest of the Pines crew that eventually led her towards the news article that paved the way for the rest of her investigation.

“Must’ve been one hell of a storm,” she’d said in reference to the town’s rebuilding.

Ha. She has no idea.

“So, if all goes well between you and your folks, we should be leaving by tomorrow afternoon. My research facility has the resources and gear we need to go visit the place,” she drew a pencil from behind her ear and wrote a couple of things down. “Any further investigations can be conducted there in the case that we’d need them.”

Another tear opened in his heart and exposed a sliver of remorse; of all the things that could’ve been. The discovery unearthed a sentiment that he’d thought to be long forgotten—or, better said, kept well under control. That feeling ultimately crushed the desire to preserve any more formality.

“How fortunate,” he grumbled, more so to the fogged-up window at his side than to Elena. “And to think that I once dreamt of having all of this.”

“We both had those dreams, Ford. Don’t do this.”

“Precisely. _We_.”

Elena grimaced.

“I don’t recall there being plans for only one of us to run away with it,” Ford shot her a bitter, side-eyed glare.

She swept her glasses off her face in one swift moment and leaned forward. “I believe you’re stepping out from the confines of our agreement.”

“Elena, you left me behind,” Ford fully faced her now, free of the red tape that had been holding him back from baring his inner feelings at her. “At the time, I thought that there was nothing bigger than the concept of us thriving together and I… I don’t know. Perhaps I’d misjudged your intentions.” 

“Alright, that’s enough,” a perpetual frown pulled at each of her features while she gathered her books and papers to store them away in a handbag. “This isn’t what we’re here for.”

“Be honest with me for a moment, then,” he blurted, so urgent to the point where it startled himself. He’d even reached a hand out as if to stop her from making another move, which, of course, he’d embarrassingly retracted and balled up into a loose fist upon the table.

She continued to round up her things in utmost silence. Not a single lash bat at him, not a glance in his direction; just complete, pained silence.

“Was I ever really, truly, a part of that dream? _Your_ dream? Or was I nothing more than another playing card of yours that would let you have your way?”

“You knew damn well that you had the choice to be. That decision, though, wasn’t mine to make,” she snapped. Elena rose to her feet; she haphazardly tossed a bill onto the table, eased her way into her trench coat, and out of the booth. “I’ll find you again tomorrow.”

Ford’s stare remained fixated upon the tattered leather of the seat before him. The thud of her boots faded into nothing, leaving his thoughts to be filled by the recurring echo of her final words backed by the dwindling plink of the piano in the distance.

The mugs were now lukewarm. Both of them filled to the top, one teeming with an excess number of marshmallows, just how he liked it, and the other a barren stew of milky brown. It caught him by surprise—he hadn’t noticed the gesture up until this point.

A blush crept from the back of his neck to the tip of his ears. He gingerly drew the one with the marshmallows towards him and took slow, somber sips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i miss their family dynamic a lot so i like to include little snippets of that hehe


End file.
